Jeannette's Story - An Insane, Nonsensical Night of Horrors

Months after the fire, Jeannette Fortune stands inside her new library in a quieter town. Fresh paint, ordinary shelves, and clean windows make the place respectably, reassuringly lifeless.

The bell above the door rings. The Clerk enters, an adult woman of slight build in a charcoal coat, with ash-blond hair pinned tightly and a wary crease between her brows.

She places a weathered book on the counter. Its cover is smoke-darkened, and a singed page protrudes from between the leaves like a blackened tongue.

The new catalog rests beside the register, its cards neat and untouched. Beneath the morning’s acquisitions, one entry has already been written in unfamiliar ink: a title Jeannette never purchased.

Jeannette pushes the weathered book across the counter with the catalog card bearing its impossible title. The clerk gathers both, careful not to touch the singed page.

The clerk accepts the book and card. As she lifts them, black ash flakes onto her charcoal sleeve, leaving a sharp, permanent-looking streak at the wrist.

The book’s cover gives one soft creak beneath the clerk’s fingers. The unfamiliar ink on the card fades to gray, while the room grows noticeably quieter around Jeannette.